


the longest day of the year

by sunarists



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aobajousai, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Confessions, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Oikawa Tooru, Second year, Summer, Teenagers, Time Loop, Training Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:53:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26677744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunarists/pseuds/sunarists
Summary: it takes a once in a lifetime, mildly traumatic, and unexplainable occurrence in the summer haze of miyagi for oikawa to finally tell iwaizumi the truth.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	the longest day of the year

Oikawa wakes up sore, muscles in his shoulders pinched and tight, and there's a twinge in his calf that tells him he went a little too hard at practice the day before. It's warm, as June mornings in Miyagi are, humidity creeping into his room and crawling under his blankets, sticking the pasty pale skin of his legs to the sheets. The sun is just risen over the horizon, painting the sky a sort of blue-purple-pink, his alarm just shut off by a weary hand that had shot out from his bed.

Oikawa Tooru is about to get ready to go to morning training.

When he finally graces the dining room with his presence- his hair combed into something a bit more presentable- his mother is already placing two pieces of thick toast in his hands, buttery and golden, and sticking a carton of milk into his jacket pocket. The calendar pages on the fridge float softly, lifted by the lazy breeze of the fan that sits on the counter.

June 21st. The longest day of the year.

"Hurry now- Hajime-kun is waiting outside." She peers out the window, waving at a figure that Oikawa can't see. He's already shoving his feet into worn sneakers, swinging his duffel bag onto his shoulder, accepting the kiss on the cheek his mother presses on him in lieu of goodbye, and swinging the door wide open. 

"You're late." Iwaizumi says crossly, eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned into a little frown. He's not actually angry- Oikawa knows this. That's just his face. 

"You're _early."_ Oikawa shoots back, but he hands one of the pieces of toast to him in quiet apology. 

Iwaizumi's frown lessens slightly. 

It's still early, and they're still two teenage boys, no matter how much they get teased for being incessant volleyball robots- they're tired. Oikawa accidentally lets a large chunk of toast fall out of his mouth and land pathetically onto the sidewalk, a careless mistake while eating and yawning, and Iwaizumi lets out a tame bark of laughter at his expense. 

It's safe to say they don't do a lot of talking, on mornings like this. They don't really need to, anyways. 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki are just turning into the gates of the school as Iwaizumi and Oikawa arrive. They too, look a little worse for wear- Matsukawa's still got a bedhead, black hair sticking up every which way, and Hanamaki's pale blue shirt is inside out. Oikawa watches as Matsukawa drops his shoes by accident, and he says some choice words that would make a sailor blush.

When Matsukawa pulls himself together, they smile at them anyways, and Hanamaki waves. 

Summer training is brutal, but third year is slowly approaching, closer and closer with every slow morning Oikawa wakes up on. And with third year coming in hot, so does his last year of high school volleyball. His last year of Seijoh blue and white- his last year of Nationals hopes. 

His last year of Aoba Johsai's silly plaid pants and his last year of Iwaizumi fussing over his tie and his last year of karaoke with Matsukawa and Hanamaki and his last year of teasing the first years and his last year of intimidating rookies in tournament hallways with Iwaizumi and his last year of the sort of adolescent freedom that you'll never be able to imitate ever again, no matter how hard you try.

He glances sideways at Iwaizumi, who's scowling at something Matsukawa said, the slope of his nose wrinkled and lips pursed in irritation. 

Oikawa feels a lot better about morning training, now. 

The four of them are early- the gym still stuffy from a long night of closed doors and a lack of air conditioning. Oikawa relishes the squeaking sound his new volleyball shoes make against the polished wooden planks of the floor. Absently, he begins to wrap his knee, taking his time as he watches Iwaizumi smack a ball into the ground, warming up for a serve. 

He fills out his plain training shirt nicely. His skin is bronze, dark against the white fabric- too many hot, bored days of volleyball at the park and too little sunscreen. He's focused, eyes trained on a half empty water bottle on the other side of the court. 

Iwaizumi tosses the ball up into the air, spinning gently. Up, up, up, and then it's falling. 

Oikawa doesn't take his eyes off of his form as Iwaizumi reaches up into the sky, jumping and smacking the ball with a precision only long hours of training and meticulous repetition could yield. 

His sports tape falls to the ground, forgotten, as the ball knocks the water bottle away, rolling meters until it finally slows to a stop. 

"Are you okay?" Hanamaki's voice breaks him out of his trance. Even with the pink hair, and the delinquent sort of posture he's carefully built for himself, Hanamaki is soft- a concerned friend. It makes Oikawa smile a little. 

"Peachy, Makki." He says delicately, and picks up the sports tape from the ground. 

He doesn't stare at Iwaizumi, not this time, as he wraps his aching knees tightly, pulling compression pads over them- one white, one black.

Maybe it's for the best- Seijoh's star ace misses the water bottle. 

* * *

There's something off, about training today. Oikawa can't quite pinpoint what it is. It's not in his performance- his serves are still wicked sharp, bouncing off helpless chests and breaking receives. His tosses are good, too- Iwaizumi claps him on the back once, smirking ever so slightly after raining a torrent of deadly spikes on the poor first years on the other side of the net. 

Oikawa feels a little hazy- his feels too slow, his movements languid even though anyone looking on wouldn't be able to pinpoint any sort of problem whatsoever. It's the sort of sedated movement you'd expect from the summer- time slows, talk slows, and Oikawa thinks it's the lack of _speed_ that he's missing painfully right now. He feels mildly unsettled- not enough to affect his play, but enough for him to acknowlegde it- a little fuzzy feeling buzzing in his skull as he goes about his morning. 

He slams a ball from one side of the court, smiling leisurely when it bounces off the ground before Kyoutani could even move for it. 

Coach nods approvingly, but his face is neutral. Oikawa's just _itching_ for the moment the Coach will call him over, beckoning him with a stiff hand, and finally designate him captain. They've been waiting for it, all of them- Oikawa with his charismatic aura and tough talk and unwavering trust in his teammates and their unwavering trust in _him._ He's the captain in every sense but official- it's coming. He knows it.

And when it comes, he'll accept gracefully. Gratefully. Oikawa will pull Iwaizumi to his side and tell him that he's vice-captain. He won't even have to ask. He knows Iwaizumi will accept gruffly- rolling his eyes and letting a rude " _duh"_ slip out from his lips. He'll bump Oikawa's hovering fist anyways, and his eyes will shine with a new sparkle of ambition that'll just make Oikawa's palms sweat, even as the gymnasium cools down after a few hours of air conditioning cranked to full blast, and his stomach twist up in knots, even though he'd had his fill of toast before training and simply wasn't hungry. 

Oikawa isn't sure how to feel about the power Iwaizumi has over him, unwitting and unaware that he holds Oikawa's whole heart in between calloused, sun warmed fingers. 

"Wake up, Shittykawa." The Iwaizumi in question flicks him on the forehead, eliciting an embarrassing yelp from Oikawa's mouth before he can bite down on it. Hanamaki's snort echoes through the gym. "We're scrimmaging again." 

"I'm _awake,_ you _brute."_ Oikawa sniffs, rubbing his sore head and scowling. Iwaizumi sighs, shaking his head softly. 

Matsukawa unsuccessfully stifles a giggle.

"What's wrong with you?" Iwaizumi murmurs under hushed tones, quiet enough that only Oikawa can hear.

Behind him, Matsukawa and Hanamaki make kissy faces at them. 

Oikawa fights the urge to strangle them.

"What do you mean?" Is what he says instead, light and airy. "I've been on top of my game." 

"You have." Iwaizumi admits. "But that's not what I'm talking about." 

It's moments like this that Oikawa is taken aback by the nature of his own friendship with Iwaizumi. There was no way anyone else on the team could've noticed for even a millisecond that there was an issue with him, yet Iwaizumi had seen through him immediately- he had watched the subtle glitches in the otherwise perfectly smooth system that Oikawa Tooru had carefully cultivated within himself. 

And he'd _seen_ him. 

"I'm spectacular, Iwa-chan. Always am." He lets the nickname sing out of his mouth, a little sweeter after this reminder that Iwaizumi cared for him. It was _far_ from news, but it pleased him to no end anyways. 

Iwaizumi hesitates, like he wants to press him a little more, but the whistle blows, and Hanamaki is slapping the ball into the ground on the other side of the court, getting ready to serve. He settles for a pointed look at Oikawa, a " _we'll talk about this later"_ going unspoken.

The rally is nothing out of the ordinary- Oikawa goes slow, Iwaizumi goes fast, and they're a well oiled machine. Oikawa doesn't even need to look at Iwaizumi to know that he's bracing for a jump, strong legs ready to push him into the air, and Oikawa just has to gently tap the ball in his direction and his arm _swings._

The ball makes a loud noise when it smashes into the ground, echoing through the gym, quiet except for Yahaba's low, impressed whistle.

The other team didn't stand a chance. Nobody does, against the two of them. 

Iwaizumi has that sort of satisfied upward quirk in his mouth, widening when he catches the eye of Oikawa, mouthing " _nice set."_

Praise unprovoked from Iwaizumi is rare- which makes Oikawa relish it all that much more. It makes him feel dizzy, and he's already silently promising Iwaizumi that the next set will be nicer, more accurate, stronger, all for that little smile that'll grace his features after. 

Oikawa watches Iwaizumi as he adjusts his knee pads, pulling them up before straightening again. Muscles ripple in his arms, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the gym. He kicks out his knee, shaking out stiff hamstrings absently, scowling at the clicking in his joints, pursing his lips and frowning at his own legs. He's blissfully unaware of how Oikawa stares at him, admires him from all sorts of distances. 

Oikawa is in fact _so_ distracted by Iwaizumi, that he doesn't move when Iwaizumi's knees bend, his body in a half squat, arms out and eyes focused on a ball being tossed into the air. Oikawa doesn't move when he hears the tell tale sound of a serve. He certainly doesn't move in the split second it takes for Iwaizumi to turn to him, already hovering his way, a look of horror crumpling his face when the ball hits Oikawa squarely in the head. 

The gym is silent when Oikawa stumbles, tripping over his own feet and onto the floor, dazedly bringing a hand up to his face. Except, it's not his hand at all- it's _Iwaizumi's,_ Distractedly, Oikawa wonders how on _earth_ he got there so fast. 

"I'm _so_ sorry, holy _shit-"_ he hears Matsukawa babble, but the sound is drowned out by the feeling of Iwaizumi's fingers dancing lightly over the sore skin of his face. It doesn't hurt all that much, not like it should. 

Funnily enough, the strange feeling Oikawa had been experiencing increases tenfold. The buzz in his skull rattles him almost to discomfort, and he blinks- once, twice, three times. 

The summer heat has to be getting to him. 

"What the _hell,_ Oikawa." Iwaizumi snaps stoutly, glaring at him as he grabs Oikawa's chin, turning it to the side roughly and inspecting the reddening spot. "This is going to bruise." 

"Nothing a little ice can't fix." He mumbles, and he's looking up at Iwaizumi, squinting as the gym lights glow from behind him, enveloping his silhouette like a halo. 

Distantly, he hears coach call an end to training, rounding them up and nodding at Iwaizumi to take Oikawa to the club room. Oikawa waves away Matsukawa's steady stream of apologies while Hanamaki bites down on a chuckle, being tugged along by Iwaizumi's iron grip on his shirt. 

"That hasn't happened to you since we were, like, eight." Iwaizumi pushes him onto the bench, then turning to rummage through the cooler for an icepack. "What's up with you, asshole? Do you have the flu or something? I _told_ you to stop going to bed with your hair wet-" 

"If it's fully dry before I sleep, it gets frizzy, _mom."_ Oikawa mutters, before the ache in his face is relieved by the gentle press of a freezing ice pack, wrapped with a paper towel that's brittle against his skin. Iwaizumi holds it to his face delicately. He doesn't let Oikawa do it himself, and Oikawa doesn't offer to. 

"I'm not kidding." He hisses. "You're being weird. What is it?" 

Oikawa stares at him for a second.

How does he tell his best friend ' _it's_ so _warm at night that my blankets stick to my legs, the gym feels strange and my head feels like radio static, the idea of third year is really scaring me, I don't want high school to end because I don't want volleyball to end and I don't want us to end, and I'm so, so,_ so _stupid in love with you.'_

He can't, so he just says, "I think it's the heat." 

It's a flimsy lie, but it seems to be enough to satisfy Iwaizumi for now, even if his eyes narrow suspiciously and the press of the icepack is suddenly a. little more insistent. 

"It's just a ball to the face." Oikawa pouts, batting Iwaizumi's hands away.

It sounds wrong even coming out of his mouth, too blunt and uncaring, lacking his usual theatrics, the over-dramatization that makes Iwaizumi tug his own hair in irritation. 

"Besides, I can _totally_ wrangle at _least_ two packs of milkbread out of Mattsun, now." 

Much better.

Iwaizumi looks a little more at ease at his jab, tossing the icepack back into the open cooler before kicking it closed with a _snap!_ He holds out his hand to Oikawa without a second thought, waiting expectantly. 

"You're a horrible person." Iwaizumi mumbles, but it lacks bite. It always does. 

Oikawa beams at him. 

"I can't be that bad, if you've stuck around for so long." 

He takes Iwaizumi's hand. 

* * *

It's only mid afternoon when they're let out of practice, the sun high in the sky and beating down on them with fervor, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki wait for them idly at the gates of the school, white sleeves rolled up their shoulders to try and beat the heat. 

Matsukawa's mouth opens, another apology already halfway spilling out of his mouth before Oikawa interrupts him smoothly, throwing a casual arm around his shoulders. 

"Oh, my dear Mattsun, you _know_ I could never stay mad at you." He croons, already walking them down the street towards the corner store. "But if you _really_ care about me..." 

When the four of them exit the convenience store, Oikawa's got his hands full with not two, but _three_ packs of milkbread, and he's so delighted that he completely forgets that Matsukawa had caused him grieve bodily harm in the first place. He says so, to the three of them, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at him while Matsukawa moans about how light his wallet feels. 

"It's _your_ fault for not focusing." Iwaizumi says bluntly, as always. Oikawa gasps at him, and Iwaizumi tears off a bit of bread and sticks it into Oikawa's open mouth, laughing unabashedly when Oikawa's eyes widen comically, and he chokes. 

Oikawa recovers quickly, but his eyes are still saucers, drinking in the line of Iwaizumi's tan throat bared as he throws his head back, a sort of ugly, stuttering cackle that's kind of music to his ears anyways.

"Why _weren't_ you paying attention, anyways?" Iwaizumi inquires, after he's quieted down, the faint traces of a smile still gracing his features, eyes amused and crinkled at the corners. 

" _Yeah,_ Oikawa, why _weren't_ you paying attenion?" Matsukawa echoes, still miffed as he sticks his wallet into his bag gracelessly, face twisted as if he was in pain. "Maybe I wouldn't be short a week's worth of allowance if you _were."_

"I was _so_ paying attention." Oikawa huffs indignantly. " _You_ were the one that violently _aimed_ for my head." 

"You should've hit it harder, Issei." Hanamaki hums, and Matsukawa nods along furiously.

Oikawa pouts at them all, even when Matsukawa and Hanamaki part ways with them on the street corner that separates their blocks, Oikawa waving them away sweetly until they turn their backs and walk, walk, walk until the two of them are a tiny speck in the distance. Their laughter rings up and down the street anyways.

Oikawa walks with Iwaizumi in silence, munching on milk bread and offering him a piece even when he knows he won't accept. _"Too sweet."_ He always says with a scowl, chewing on the sour gummies he's forever favoured. 

They shed their shoes at the door of the Iwaizumi house, his mother yelling a quick " _hello!"_ and pressing a kiss to both their cheeks before bustling back into the kitchen. Oikawa follows Iwaizumi up the stairs, dragging his bag behind him. It's slightly cooler, in the house, but Oikawa sheds his sweaty shirt and tosses it into the hamper in the corner of Iwaizumi's room before rummaging in the closet like it's his own. 

"Pass me the black one." Iwaizumi's voice is muffled by the pillow his face is currently mashed into, on arm outstretched and his fingers making grabby hands. Oikawa makes a face at him, even if he can't see, and swallows the lump in his throat when he gets his hands on the black tank top Iwaizumi is referring to. 

Oikawa's seen Iwaizumi wear this tank top before. Harsh dark colors against golden skin, fabric tight and Oikawa's stared at Iwaizumi _enough_ today. If Iwaizumi puts on this tank top, it's _over_ for him. 

"Must still be in the wash." Oikawa says loftily, stuffing the tank top into a deep corner of the closet, where it'll inevitably get forgotten about until Iwaizumi figures out that in fact, it was _not_ in the laundry at all. He gives it a few weeks, completely remorseless for his sneaky move. 

This is self preservation, on his part, really. 

"Hmph." Iwaizumi grunts back, and Oikawa tosses him an old shirt from a training camp long gone. The familiar bright colours and ugly font make a giggle bubble up in his throat, and Iwaizumi grimaces at the sight of it. He shrugs it on anyways, his mouth curling a little at the sight of Oikawa's amusement. 

There's a beat of silence between them, in that moment, as they figure out what to do with the endless expanse of time that is their dying summer afternoon. It's not awkward, it could _never_ be awkward, not between _them._

Iwaizumi had been there when Oikawa got his first bout of violently obvious acne. Oikawa had been there when Iwaizumi's pants ripped when they were playing tag in primary.

_(Iwaizumi had bought him all the pretty skincare products, the ones he heard the girls fawn over in class, dumping a bagful of them on Oikawa's bed one night and scratching his head as he wondered which bottle was which. Oikawa had stood loyally behind Iwaizumi for the rest of the school day, kicking up a fuss to distract their teacher when she asked for Iwaizumi to come up to the board)_

Iwaizumi had been there the first time Oikawa cried over a girl, snotty and pink-cheeked and wet. Oikawa had been there when Iwaizumi had received a spike to the face in a really important practice match, and had hastily wiped away his involuntary tears for him.

_(Iwaizumi's shirt had been soaked with snot and tears by the time Oikawa had tired himself out, but didn't move an inch the whole night, even though his neck had been sore and Oikawa was kind of heavy. Oikawa's jersey had been stained red by Iwaizumi's bleeding nose, but he'd carefully held a towel up to it anyways, his thumb brushing away hot tears that slipped from Iwaizumi's eyes when they spilled over)_

Iwaizumi had been there the first time they attended a party and Oikawa had emptied the contents of his stomach all over his mother's carefully gardened petunias. Oikawa had been there when Iwaizumi had rolled his ankle trying to sneak back into his own house. 

_(Iwaizumi had carded his fingers through Oikawa's hair soothingly, even while scowling and pinching his nose, and let Oikawa rest his head on his shoulder on the sidewalk outside his house as they sobered up. Oikawa had heaved him up, tipsy and all, and walked him to their house, iced his ankle and doted on him for a whole_ week _after)_

Awkward wasn't a word that existed in Oikawa and Iwaizumi's story.

"Volleyball?" They chorus at the same time, hopeful and pleading. There's a pause, Iwaizumi's wide eyes crinkling as he starts to chuckle, sunlight trickling in from the open window and illuminating him kindly, softly.

Oikawa's heart is filled with an unstoppable, inevitable amount of love for Iwaizumi Hajime at this moment. It's not rare. In fact, he thinks his heart and head being full of Iwaizumi is now his default state, just something he's long had to accept. It's just times like this where he's reminded of it, his heart pulsing that extra beat quicker and the realisation of " _oh"_ that feels new every single time. 

"Yeah." He breathes, already turning towards the door, half because of the stupid flush that's rising to his cheeks and half because he really _does_ want to play volleyball. 

They play volleyball till that hideous shirt of Iwaizumi's is soaked through with sweat and the sun that had dusted pink onto Oikawa's cheekbones sets on the horizon, colouring the sky that funny blue-purple-pink it had been this morning. 

"Your face is bruising." Iwaizumi scowls, brushing the pad of his thumb over Oikawa's cheekbone. 

"It'll make me look tough." Oikawa waggles his eyebrows. "I'll be a delinquent like you, Iwa-chan!"

When Iwaizumi's mom comes out and shoos them back into the house, Oikawa is ready to go home, his eyelashes fluttering low on his cheeks and muscles sore and satisfied. He bids his best friend goodbye, and Iwaizumi walks him to the sidewalk, only for Oikawa to stroll a couple houses down the street. When he turns back, Iwaizumi is still standing where he left him, hands stuck gracelessly into his short pockets. 

Oikawa waves. Iwaizumi sticks his tongue out at him in lieu of goodbye, and walks back into his house. 

That buzzing feeling in his head comes back again.

* * *

Oikawa wakes up sore, muscles in his shoulders pinched and tight, and there's a twinge in his calf that tells him he went a little too hard at practice the day before. It's warm, as June mornings in Miyagi are, humidity creeping into his room and crawling under his blankets, sticking the pasty pale skin of his legs to the sheets. The sun is just risen over the horizon, painting the sky a sort of blue-purple-pink, his alarm just shut off by a weary hand that had shot out from his bed.

Oikawa Tooru is about to get ready to go to morning training.

He's struck with an unnerving amount of deja vu, overwhelming him until he's blinking at the wall, confused and rather irritable. After all, it is _very_ early in the morning, and Oikawa enjoys his beauty sleep. 

When he finally graces the dining room with his presence- his hair combed into something a bit more presentable- his mother is already placing two pieces of thick toast in his hands, buttery and golden, and sticking a carton of milk into his jacket pocket. The calendar pages on the fridge float softly, lifted by the lazy breeze of the fan that sits on the counter.

June 21st. The longest day of the year.

He drops a piece of toast onto the floor. 

"Tooru." His mother berates him, already sticking another piece of bread into the toaster as Oikawa abashedly picks up the piece he dropped. "So clumsy." 

"Mom." He shoots back. "June 21st was yesterday." 

His mother frowns at him, inspecting the calendar on the fridge. Indeed, every square on their Volleyball Monthly calendar was crossed, from the 1st of June up until the 20th. 

"No, Tooru." She answers him bemusedly. "It was the twentieth yesterday. I had my hair appointment." 

Under the large red cross over the box that marked the twentieth of June, his mother's neat handwriting says, _"Haircut."_ After closer inspection, it seems his mother's hair _did_ look different than yesterday. Or the day before yesterday. 

Oikawa's left reeling. 

"Are you feeling alright, Tooru?" She asks concernedly, pressing a soft hand to his forehead. "It's all this volleyball in this heat, it's not good for you-"

He shakes her off. "I'm not sick." 

Now, Oikawa's not completely sure of that either. Was yesterday some sort of fever dream? Had the heat really gotten to him so much that he'd hallucinated a whole _day_? 

The toaster pops, shocking them both. His mother flinches a little, before plucking the toast out, waving at an unknown figure out the window that Oikawa would already know was Iwaizumi, repeat day or not. 

"If you say so, Tooru. Hurry now- Hajime-kun is waiting outside." She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, hustling him towards the door. 

When he steps out of the house, he's face to face with the same scowling Iwaizumi he sees every day. 

"You're late." He says, and it's the _exact_ same as yesterday. 

"There's something really, _really_ weird happening to me right now." Is what Oikawa says back, stumbling over his words as he forces a piece of toast into Iwaizumi's hands. He takes it, his face already twisted with concern. 

Oikawa chooses not to dwell on the fact that he hadn't hesitated to tell Iwaizumi, not even for a second. In fact, the idea of _not_ telling Iwaizumi felt strange- the idea of keeping any semblance of a secret from him was a foreign concept. 

Oikawa had kept a total of two secrets from Iwaizumi in his life.

One, that his knee and ankle still get really sore, really fast when he plays volleyball too many days in a row.

And two. 

He's in love with him. 

Even _thinking_ it frazzles his nerves, a rush of fearhopeshock washing over him until it's all that registers.

"What is it?" Iwaizumi says. Oikawa really hopes his mother doesn't peek through the windows right about now- she'll wonder why the two of them are still stood on the Oikawa household's doorstep, toast growing cold and brittle in their hands. 

"We'll walk and talk, Hajime, come on." He says briskly, tugging on Iwaizumi's sleeve until they're at a half walk-half jog. When they're at a safe distance away from his house, surely out of his mother's sight, Oikawa stops once again, turning to Iwaizumi. 

"June 21st was yesterday." He says simply, and Iwaizumi frowns at him. 

"No." He says slowly. "June 21st is today. You were telling me for hours _yesterday_ how it's the longest day of the year _today_. The summer solstice, or something." 

Oikawa _had_ done that, hadn't he? But he'd done that _two_ nights ago, on the _real_ June twentieth. 

"I don't know how-" Oikawa's breathing starts to speed up, and he can't really control it, he _never_ can.

Nobody can stay calm and collected _all_ the time, no matter how much it seems like he can, and these are _extraordinary_ circumstances, how _could_ his breathing be even and his heartbeat be steady in a time like this?

"- and I don't know _why,_ but I woke up yesterday and it was June twenty first. And then I went downstairs and took two pieces of toast from my mom and opened the door and gave one to you and we walked to school together and met Makki and Mattsun at the gate and then I wrapped my knee while you practiced your serves because we were early and this is the second time I'm living June 21st and I felt really weird yesterday and-" 

" _Oikawa_." Iwaizumi's grip on his shoulders is tight- firm and grounding. "I believe you." 

Oikawa hadn't even seen Iwaizumi move that close to him suddenly, but now he can see every fleck of gold in his surprised brown eyes. 

It's calming. _Iwaizumi_ is calming, even with all his nagging and punching and swearing. 

"You do?" Oikawa breathes, and he could _sob_ with how relieved he feels. "You won't even make me prove it?" 

"That would be nice, but I'd believe you either way." The shorter boy admits gruffly. "You haven't called me Hajime since middle school ended." 

Oh. 

_We'll walk and talk, Hajime, come on._

That had slipped out. 

"And _that's_ what makes you believe me?" Oikawa jokes weakly. "You're easy, Iwa-chan." 

Iwaizumi crosses his arms, pursing his lips and ignoring the jab. "So you're experiencing today.... again? This is the second time?" 

His story is absolutely _ludicrous-_ Oikawa _knows_ this. They make movies about situations like this- so fantastical and imaginary and ridiculous that they're _comedies_ and suddenly those silly flicks that he and Iwaizumi used to pity-laugh at while chewing on microwaved-burned popcorn are his _reality._

It's ridiculous, and Iwaizumi believes him.

It's a pity that Oikawa's a coward, because he would kiss him right here, right now, on this little spot of sun-warmed sidewalk as the sun rises behind him.

"If we jog to the gates, I can prove it." Oikawa doesn't wait another moment, grabbing Iwaizumi's hand as he turns on his heel and runs. He thinks he hears Iwaizumi cursing mildly behind him, their fingers interlaced tightly as Oikawa pulls him along. 

"Mattsun and Makki are going to arrive at the gates at the same time as us. Makki's shirt is inside out. Oh! And it's blue." Oikawa huffs as they turn the corner at the convenience store. "Mattsun's holding his shoes, but he'll drop them and start swearing. When he picks them up, Makki will wave at us, and the four of us will walk in together." 

They slow their brisk jog when they finally arrive at the gates of Aoba Johsai. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are walking up too, but Oikawa's not paying attention to what he's already seen. He instead watches Iwaizumi, and the slow realisation dawning on his face when he sees Matsukawa drop his shoes. 

"Holy shit." He murmurs, as Hanamaki waves. "Holy _shit,_ Oikawa." 

"Believe me?" Oikawa mumbles back, approaching their two friends as slowly as they can. 

"I already did, asshole." Iwaizumi whispers back. 

"Is there something you two need to tell us?" Hanamaki coos when they're in hearing range, a menacing looking grin spreading over his features. Matsukawa waggles his thick eyebrows, and Oikawa is finally conscious of the fact that yes, he and Iwaizumi were _still_ holding hands. 

They jump apart immediately. Oikawa's face is on _fire,_ and even then, he chances a glance at Iwaizumi. 

That bastard looks completely unaffected. 

"I wanted to walk." He grumbles. "Trashykawa here wanted to run." 

And isn't that how it's always been, between them?

"Alright." Matsukawa says, but his eyes glint with amusment, traces of a faint smile on his lips. "Sure."

Oikawa lags behind Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and Iwaizumi stays with him, their other two friends already lost in a flurry of jokes and conversation. 

"So." Iwaizumi whispers. "Now what?" 

Oikawa blanks. 

_Now what?_

Oikawa's not crazy. This really _is_ happening to him. In all the silly movies and books he's read about things like this, the protagonist always has something to figure out, or a task to complete, or something to say to someone. And the day will keep repeating until they finish whatever business needs to be finished. 

His heart begins to beat faster and faster at the thought of being stuck on June 21st for the rest of his life. That's damn well as long as it could be, for him to figure out whatever it could be that's keeping him here. It could be _anything-_ from realising the mumbo-jumbo true power of friendship to aligning his inner chakras to discovering the secrets of the universe to finding the true meaning of love to- 

" _Hey."_

Iwaizumi's wrist is gently circling Oikawa's wrist, shaking it a little to break him out of his own thoughts. Oikawa flinches when he realises he's just been stood there, Hanamaki and Matsukawa long gone and in the gym already. The courtyard of the school is empty, save for the two of them closely stood in the centre of it. 

"Breathe." Iwaizumi mutters, quiet even when he doesn't need to be. "It'll be okay. We'll figure this out." 

"It might just be a fluke." Oikawa mumbles desperately. "Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and it'll be June 22nd. Or maybe I'm crazy and hallucinated this all. Or maybe I'm experiencing some sort of insane deja-vu." 

"Maybe it will be June 22nd tomorrow. Maybe this _is_ some sort of once in a lifetime experience that'll never happen to you again. Or maybe you'll wake up tomorrow and it'll be June 21st again. But you're _not_ crazy." Iwaizumi says firmly. "How else could you have known all that about Matsukawa and Hanamaki? You need to clear your head. Come on, let's go." 

Oikawa doesn't know whether the fact that Iwaizumi believes Oikawa more than _he_ believes in himself is endearing or worrying.

Iwaizumi's grip around his wrist is still delicate, like he's worried about hurting him. He does worry about Oikawa, even with all his rough and tumble attitude and semi-violent tendencies, but they balance each other out nicely. A sort of yin and yang, push and pull that they both need to stay afloat. 

Oikawa almost instantly feels a little more at ease when he enters the gym, even when his wrist suddenly feels cold when Iwaizumi drops it. The telltale scent of freshly polished wooden planks, the sound of volleyballs rolling across the floors, and the scrape of the nets against the floor when they're setting up. 

It's comfortable. After they put their shoes on, Iwaizumi sends him one more reassuring look before beginning his warm-up. Oikawa starts to wrap his knee, pointedly not looking at Iwaizumi as he flies into the air, arm locked back and ready to launch the ball like a cannon. 

If he starts looking, he'll never be able to stop. 

Vaguely, he feels a dull ache in his face, where Matsukawa had sent a punishing ball towards yesterday. He knows the bruise isn't there anymore, but the lingering feeling of Iwaizumi's thumb pressing gently over it remains. 

He throws his sports tape back into his bag with unnecessary vigour. This is pathetic. 

Yahaba throws him a ball, and the worn leathery surface of it is soft in his palms. 

If volleyball couldn't fix him, what was it good for?

* * *

"Will you tell me tomorrow, if it happens again?" 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are sat on the sidewalk outside of the convenience store, loose change in their duffel bags spent on ice-pops. They melt faster than they can eat them, and Oikawa watches as the sickly sweet cherry popsicle stains Iwaizumi's fingers red, his own blue-raspberry ice pop forgotten and dripping from neglect. 

"I'd believe you, you know." Iwaizumi says again, before Oikawa can answer. His tongue pokes out, dragging up the popsicle, and Oikawa's mind empties for a split-second before he pulls himself back together, and purposefully focuses on the little dandelion poking out of the crack on the street. "I'd believe you every time."

"I know you would." Oikawa mumbles, finally deigning to take a bite of his popsicle (a _bite,_ because if he doesn't eat this quicker, he'd be licking popsicle remains off the sidewalk). "I'd tell you."

"Good." He responds sagely, a rivulet of red juice trickling down his chin. Oikawa fights the urge to wipe it off. 

He loses. He reaches out, thumbing roughly at Iwaizumi's chin before retracting his hand like he'd been burned. Iwaizumi furrows his eyebrow confusedly, but he smiles. It's shy, a little embarrassed, and his cheeks are dusted a little pink from sitting in the sun. Is he freckling? He'd always adapted well to the sunshine. 

"Such a messy eater, Iwa-chan." Oikawa says delicately, even though he feels like his heart is being swallowed whole for all the right reasons. "Where are your manners?" 

"Shut up." Iwaizumi shoots back easily, amused. "You just wiped my face like a granny."

Silence stretches between them after that, filled by slurping sounds as they finish the last dredges of their sad looking popsicles, cars zooming by, and birds flying overhead, cawing when they perch on the hazardous looking electrical poles. 

"Have you thought about the future?" Oikawa blurts before he can stop himself.

Iwaizumi stills, cocking his head to the side slightly. 

"A little." He says finally. "We'll go to nationals. We'll win. We'll graduate. I don't know what university I want to go to yet, but I'm looking at Tokyo. I'll probably play volleyball, but not go pro. And-" 

He pauses, and Oikawa can practically see the cogs in his head moving. 

"- that's all." Is what he finishes with, and Oikawa has a feeling that it's a little white lie. 

_'Can I come with you?'_

It's unspoken between them, something not quite tangible, yet it fills every silence, every cold winter night, every hot summer morning between them as their impending graduation creeps closer and closer. 

The difference between the two of them is that wherever Iwaizumi has gone, Oikawa has followed, willingly, excitedly. Oikawa's always had to tug Iwaizumi along. Even so, they've been together, thick as thieves, up until now. Oikawa selfishly wants it to be forever. 

He thinks Iwaizumi wants that too. He thinks that maybe he knows that Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa knows that they both want to enter the next chapter of their lives together. Inseparable then, inseparable now, inseparable forever. 

_Maybe._

Oikawa will keep to himself (a rarity) until Iwaizumi chooses for them both. He's sure they'll make the right choice, that it'll all work itself out in the end. It's not like Oikawa can't go pro, no matter where he is in the world. 

Volleyball is everywhere, from quiet little Miyagi to the grandeur of Tokyo. He knows this, ambitious and power-hungry as he is.

He also knows there is only one Iwaizumi.

"Cool." Oikawa says faintly. He's here, on this hot, cracked sidewalk next to Iwaizumi, with melting popsicle trickling down his fingers and onto his beat up sneakers, but he feels a million miles away. "Really cool." 

He stands up abruptly, jerking up and making Iwaizumi flinch with the suddenness of the movement. He can't stand to sit still right now, with the warm press of Iwaizumi's body against his side. 

Oikawa holds his hand out, and the image of Iwaizumi pulling him up in the club room after icing his cheek pops into his mind before he can stop it. 

"Come on." He says lightly. "Let's go home." 

And when Iwaizumi's sticky hand grasps his, fingers sliding together and palms squeezing shut, Oikawa thinks he might tug Iwaizumi along again, just this once.

* * *

June 21st. 

Again. 

Oikawa fights the urge to pull out his hair, frustration and fear settling in deep into his bones, digging at his spirit a little more with every hour that passes by. 

"Mom." He croaks from his spot at the kitchen table. She doesn't even need to hear it to know that he won't- he _can't-_ go to training today, still in his pajamas and looking even more miserable than he felt. She nods at him sympathetically, dialling his coach's number, written in chicken scrawl on a scrap piece of paper that's been stuck to his fridge since the first time he got injured. 

His mother opens the window as the phone rings, dial tone echoing through their quiet kitchen. "Hajime-kun!" 

Oikawa freezes. He'd forgotten that Iwaizumi would be at his door, too preoccupied with his other issues. Stubborn, headstrong Iwaizumi, who'd had to wrestle Oikawa into getting some rest the last time he'd felt a little under the weather. 

There's no way he would leave it alone. 

"Tooru isn't feeling well!" She calls out the window. "He won't be going to training today!" 

Iwaizumi's reply is quiet, quiet enough that Oikawa can't hear it. 

"I don't know if it's contagious, but I don't want you to risk it!" She says. 

( _"I'd believe you, you know." Iwaizumi says. "I'd believe you every time.")_

"Gosh, you always have been stubborn, haven't you! Go to practice, Hajime-kun, or I'll call your mother!" She huffs, but it's playful. Distantly, Oikawa thinks Iwaizumi's answering words might be apologetic. 

His mother presses a quick kiss to his forehead, murmuring a quick sorry for having to leave for work and promising to bring home medicine and milk bread before slipping out the back door to get to the car. He wonders if Iwaizumi is gone, grumpily stomping to school with his hands tucked deep into his pockets, muttering curses about Oikawa. The image makes him giggle quietly- it sounds a lot louder, in this empty house he's in. 

His phone flashes, catching Oikawa's eye from its perch on the corner of the table.

* * *

**From: Iwa-chan (°◡°♡)**

_6:47AM: let me in asshole_

_6:47AM: or i'll just let myself in with the spare key_

**To: Iwa-chan (°◡°♡)**

_6:48AM: iwa chan u have to go to training (；￣Д￣) how else are u going to get as good as me!! (*^‿^*)_

_6:49AM: besides, i don't want 2 infect u with my deadly diseases!!!_

**From: Iwa-chan (°◡°♡)**

_6:50AM: i'm letting myself in. u better have clothes on this time_

_6:50AM: also u text so slow bc of those kaomojis_

_6:50AM: loser_

**To: Iwa-chan (°◡°♡)**

_6:51AM: you r so mean 2 me ｡ﾟ･ ( >﹏<) ･ﾟ｡ i never should have given u that key!!!!!! _

* * *

True to his word, Oikawa hears the telltale sound of the door unlocking, creaking open before being shut softly. Iwaizumi drops his bag at the door, shucking his shoes before he's taking long strides to Oikawa. 

"Bullshit." He mutters- maybe to Oikawa, but probably to himself- placing a hand against Oikawa's forehead. " _Bullshit."_

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Oikawa jabs, but it falls short, Iwaizumi looking at him with dark eyes and scowl. 

"What's wrong with you?" He says crossly, but his hand falls from Oikawa's forehead to his cheek, his coarse palms stilling where they lay. Oikawa's breathing accelerates as Iwaizumi waits, pursing his lips in concentration. 

Morning light, cool from the sun that is only just risen, filters in through the kitchen window, dappling Iwaizumi's skin with spots of soft gold and harsh shadow. It's so quiet, even with the trees rustling outside, and the errant car tottering by, that Oikawa wonders if Iwaizumi can hear his heartbeat. 

"You're warm." Iwaizumi mumbles, averting his gaze. "But you don't have a fever." 

And it's true- Oikawa _is_ warm _-_ not the feverish, sickened type. Just the type he gets when he's blushing. 

"Go to training, Doc." Oikawa snaps, but Iwaizumi doesn't rise to the bait, he _never_ does. 

"Tell me what's wrong." He demands, pulling out a chair and sitting across from Oikawa. "And _don't_ lie to me." 

( _"I'd believe you, you know." Iwaizumi says. "I'd believe you every time.")_

"I don't wanna talk about it." Oikawa mumbles. "You're going to be late for training." 

Iwaizumi snorts, loud and rude. 

"Shittykawa." He says plainly. "I'm not _going_ to training." 

He grabs his own phone, eyeing a confused looking Oikawa as he dials in a number. He doesn't break eye contact as he raises the phone to his ear, the dial tone loud enough that Oikawa can hear it. A tinny voice picks up, and Iwaizumi _smirks._

"Hi coach." He mumbles, sounding absolutely _pitiful,_ even as his eyes twinkle amusedly, still staring Oikawa down. "I'm not feeling too well- yeah, I think it might be that same bug Oikawa came down with- I'm sorry, I don't think I can come to training today- it's okay? Thank you- okay, I'll drink water- okay, I'll eat- okay, thank you coach." 

Oikawa looks on in wonder. 

Iwaizumi is skipping training, and he's skipping training for _Oikawa._

(It feels nothing short of a confession, because they've eaten, breathed, cried, _lived_ for volleyball. And Iwaizumi had set it aside in a heartbeat)

"Goodbye, coach." He croaks one last time, before hanging up, his face melting into one of ease. 

"You're sneaky." Oikawa hums, pouring two glasses of cold water. 

"Side effect of being around you." Iwaizumi shoots back, his voice completely fine. "Now. Spill." 

Oikawa pauses, the glass of water that had been halfway to his mouth pausing. He evaluates his options. 

_One- tell Iwaizumi. He's sure he'd believe Oikawa's tale, no matter how fraught and confused it may be. But he has no way to prove it- not like yesterday, when he'd known what Matsukawa and Hanamaki were going to do before they'd even known they'd do it. Iwaizumi would believe him, yes, but just barely. And Oikawa would slowly feel his descent into madness, with every concerned look and "are you sure?" on the tip of Iwaizumi's tongue._

_Two- don't tell Iwaizumi at all._

"I really don't want to talk about it." Oikawa says in hushed tones. The decision had already been made. "Can I tell you another time, Hajime?" 

And it's cunning, it really is, for him to slip Iwaizumi's given name into the question. Names have power, and Oikawa already knew it worked wonders on his best friend. 

Naturally, Iwaizumi's face softens into something kinder, worry beating out curiosity, and Oikawa breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the tension flood out of Iwaizumi's shoulders. 

"Fine." He harrumphs, carding a hand through his spiky black hair. " _Fine."_

It's humid, the surfaces in the kitchen stick to the touch and sweat beginning to gather on the nape of his neck. Had it been this warm the whole time? Oikawa doesn't know, but however hot it is, it's beginning to fill him with a light sort of haze, soft and lingering at the back of his mind. 

* * *

They decide to play Mario Kart for awhile- even if Iwaizumi _says_ he's not mildly annoyed at Oikawa for keeping a secret, he _shows_ it by playing with _Oikawa's_ favourite character.

" _You took Princess Peach?"_ Oikawa says, his voice raising an embarrassing number of octaves, staring woefully at the screen, where Peach hovers up and down, eyes glinting maliciously in tandem with Iwaizumi's. 

"You can have Daisy." Iwaizumi says sweetly. 

"But-" Oikawa's mouth snaps shut at the competitive glance Iwaizumi sends his way. 

There's nothing like the slight ambition, the desire to win that's tinged their friendship for as long as it's existed. It's how they grow, how they grow _together,_ from things as silly as being the first to finish their vegetables to the first to bump Matsukawa's _killer_ jump float to _this._

_Mario Kart._

"Whatever." Oikawa flops down next to Iwaizumi, ignoring how the scent of clean laundry and a sporty, sharp deodorant makes him _ache,_ leaning into his space even _further._

Iwaizumi is warm warm warm in the heat of the summer, and Oikawa will never, _could_ never get enough. 

"I'll win anyways." Oikawa whispers into Iwaizumi's ear. 

And in the heat of the summer, Iwaizumi _shivers._ Oikawa thinks he'll miss this for a very long time, when they inevitably part ways. 

Their morning flies by in a blur, the sun creeping across the sky as they thoroughly thrash each other via video game consoles, the little two princesses on the screen suddenly an outlet for any and every pent up frustration they've ever had. They bump shoulders, pull consoles, and exchange a creative flurry of curses that would have Iwaizumi's mother chasing them with a wooden spoon, had she heard. 

When the sun begins to settle on the horizon again, they've long abandoned their video game, opting to lie idly on Oikawa's bed. Oikawa rests his head on Iwaizumi's hard stomach, stretched out perpendicularly from him, creeping into his bubble like he knows Iwaizumi won't mind. 

"Do you really not want to talk about it?" Iwaizumi hums. His fingers loop through tufts of Oikawa's wayward brown hair, brushing over his scalp, lingering over his temples. It's nice. Oikawa could get used to this. 

"Not really." Oikawa mumbles, and his eyelids droop. The harsh orange glow of the sunset illuminates the room, but he doesn't face Iwaizumi. He's bright enough as it is, and Oikawa is tired of shielding his eyes. 

"Okay." Iwaizumi says, uncharacteristically complacent. "That's alright." 

They spend the next hours sharing quiet whispers, comments on school gossip, volleyball news, old secrets that only serve to amuse them now. Oikawa recalls every story like an old friend, every memory he retells tinged with a soft longing that he hopes Iwaizumi can't catch. 

"Quit worrying." Iwaizumi says to him. Somewhere between it all, Oikawa had crept up the mattress until their heads lay on the same pillow, facing each other. The blankets lay abandoned at the foot of the bed, kicked away in a last-ditch attempt to avoid the heat. Oikawa is so close that he could see the faintest freckles that dotted the bridge of Iwaizumi's nose. His fingers grab at Iwaizumi's cotton shirt, tangling in the fabric like he's afraid if they come loose, Iwaizumi will fall away. 

He thinks that he knows that Iwaizumi knows that they both know that they aren't _just_ friends. They've never _been_ just friends. 

"I'm not." Oikawa says lightly, and the lie rolls off his tongue so easily. Iwaizumi knows better, he always knows better, and rolls his eyes harshly. 

"Yes you are." He says petulantly. "You have been for a while." 

And Oikawa stiffens at the reminder that no matter how good he thinks he is at hiding his own thoughts, Iwaizumi is somehow reads him like an open book anyways. It's made keeping Oikawa's own adoration for Iwaizumi all the more difficult, but as their time slowly trickles away, he wonders if he would really mind all that much, for his best friend to know. 

"We still have a year left." Iwaizumi says softly. "Why are you so worried?" 

_And after this year, then what? Do we leave this all behind together? Or do we go our separate ways until our paths reconverge sometime in the future?_

_Or do we take two separate roads that veer so far from one another that eventually we'll be walking the same road in two different directions, moving further and further apart until I'm nothing more than a fond childhood memory?_

_Will you take the first step forward and leave me behind?_

"Is that what's been bothering you?" Iwaizumi grumbles concernedly. "The future?" 

_Yes._

"No." Oikawa says, and there must be something about his tone that tells Iwaizumi that he really, _really_ doesn't want to talk about it. 

So they don't talk at all. They lie there as the sun finally dips below the mountains and the sky darkens to a bruise-purple and the rooms are finally dark and Oikawa finally, _finally_ looks at Iwaizumi, his eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek. 

His breath catches in his throat. 

Iwaizumi's bright, glowing, even shrouded in the dark. 

"You'll go to training tomorrow, right?" Iwaizumi says, and his chest rumbles against Oikawa's. They'd come even closer, pushed flush against one another, without even noticing it. That's how gravitas worked, Oikawa supposes. The magnetic pull of being near someone you loved so dearly. 

"Yeah." He says, his voice raspy and tired. He's comfortable, like this. It's not too hot, with the sun being down, and Oikawa is just warm enough to be satisfied without his blanket. 

And as he slowly falls into the clutches of sleep, he thinks he hears Iwaizumi whisper one last thing before his dreams claim him. 

_"You wouldn't leave me behind, would you?"_

* * *

Oikawa doesn't need to check the calendar again to know its June 21st again. He can tell from the slight ache in his muscles that shouldn't exist, for he hadn't played volleyball yesterday. He can tell, because the sky looks the same this morning, the same it has every morning. 

And most painfully obviously, he can tell because his bed feels a little too big, emptier than it had been the night prior. 

_"You wouldn't leave me behind, would you?"_

Had Iwaizumi said that? Or had it been a figment of an overactive mind, slowly slipping away as he relived the same normal, boring day, over and over until he'd be able to count the second the toast popped in the morning or pinpoint the exact time the birds began to caw. 

When he goes downstairs, he wordlessly takes the toast from his mother's hands, already making a beeline for the door. Iwaizumi is there, surprised at the vigour in which Oikawa had swung the door open with. 

Oikawa almost looks away- he hadn't expected the twist in his gut at the sight of him. Iwaizumi, who he'd fallen asleep next to last night, only to wake up to an empty bed. Iwaizumi, who he could get used to falling asleep next to. 

"You're ear-" Iwaizumi starts off, confused, and Oikawa just sticks a piece of toast into his open mouth, feeling only slightly amused by the choked noise of protest his friend makes as he tugs him along, out of range of his mother's watchful eye. 

"Oik- _OIkawa,_ what the _fu-"_ Iwaizumi splutters after finally finding the right mind to pull the offending object out of his mouth. 

"I'm experiencing a time loop." Oikawa says curtly, wincing at his own tone. He's trying to be serious, trying to get his urgency across to Iwaizumi, but he doesn't deserve the snippiness he's getting now. 

"You're wh-" 

"A red car is about to drive by." He says, wrenching Iwaizumi's attention towards the road. "It has this hideous pink bumper sticker- the colour of Makki's hair, but even _worse._ And then right after, a motorcycle is going to follow. A woman with blonde, short hair, not wearing her helmet." 

He makes sure Iwaizumi's focused on the road, feeling nothing but a mild hum of satisfaction as his words ring true, the vehicles zooming up the road in a flurry of exhaust and radio music.

Iwaizumi's jaw drops, and with one more glance at Oikawa's mouth pressed into a thin line, he believes him. 

"How many days has it been?" He asks slowly, mulling it over. Already he begins to look slightly less unbothered, the truth sinking into him easily. Like he'd never even consider Oikawa to be lying to him, even with something as preposterous, as _ridiculous_ as this. Unbendable, unbreakable faith. 

Oikawa's heart _aches._

"This is the third day." He says quietly. "I mean. The third _repeat._ It's been June 21st for four days." 

Iwaizumi looks unflappable, as per usual, the only hint that he's shocked being the slight twitch in his eye that betrays his thoughts. They stand there on the sidewalk, sun languidly climbing up the horizon, and Oikawa lets Iwaizumi think. 

"Do you _want_ to go to training?" He inquires in a neutral tone, unreadable. 

Unbendable, unbreakable, unflappable, unreadable. Iwaizumi, to anyone that wasn't Oikawa, is far from an open book with his trademark scowl and almost-but-not-quite mean sense of humour. Even to Oikawa, all he can deduce from Iwaizumi is strings of words, unintelligible nonsense that he can't quite understand yet. 

"Yes." Oikawa says honestly, because that's what volleyball is _there_ for. An anchor, something to tie him down to this world. Something people will remember him for. 

"Then let's go." Iwaizumi murmurs. Oikawa can practically see the gears churning in his mind. "We're going to be late." 

* * *

Training rumbles by without fanfare. Oikawa pushes himself- he _always_ does, but this time is different. There's nothing stopping him from tipping over the limit. He only loosely wraps his knees, only skims over warmups and stretches. 

After all, if he ends up hurting himself, it'll just go away the next morning. Morbidly, Oikawa thinks it's kind of nice, that consequences no longer pull him back. 

Iwaizumi waits as Oikawa stays behind in the gym, long after everyone's packed up and gone home. They bump the ball between them in silence, idle and easy, focused only on the volleyball and nothing else. Oikawa gets to forget about the fact that it's June 21st, and Iwaizumi lets him. 

When Oikawa's knees finally begin to creak and groan in protest, his muscles aching and his energy sated, Iwaizumi quietly packs what was left of equipment in the gym, tossing Oikawa's bag at him. 

' _Let's go.'_ He's trying to say. Oikawa supposes it's only fair enough. He's been quiet all day. 

By the time they've left the gym, the sky is falling, orange fading into deep blue. Already, stars begin to dot the sky, sparkling and taunting him. 

He'll just see them tomorrow. 

And the day after. 

And the day after. 

Frustration is simmering low in his stomach, intermingling with fear and anger. How is it, that this is happening? It's been three days of this loop and he's yet to even _think_ about what might be causing it. 

What might be _holding him back._

He only realises that he's been following Iwaizumi when they've arrived at their destination- and it's not their street. 

Instead, they stand in the middle of a park, the scent of freshly mown grass in the air and a mild sweetness on his tongue. They played here, when they were kids- so young that Oikawa had only just been given his first volleyball, and Iwaizumi had only watched curiously, his soft childish hands only used to the grip of a net for catching bugs, and not the worn leather of an exhausted volleyball. 

It fills Oikawa with the same sort of nostalgia that's plagued him for a while now, since he was really, _really_ struck with the realisation that he and Iwaizumi weren't meant to last forever. The sting of it all being soothed by old memories that rush back is familiar to him now. 

The park is small, and they've stopped near the middle, by a large old fountain filled with rusty pennies and hopeful wishes. Oikawa wonders if the coins they'd thrown in there were still there.

He wonders if any of his wishes, long forgotten, had ever come true.

"So tomorrow when you wake up..." Iwaizumi says slowly. "It'll be June 21st again?" 

"Yeah." He breathes. 

Why did this have to happen to _him?_

Iwaizumi pauses again, his duffel bag sliding off of his shoulder and landing on the floor with a thump. His arms are crossed, hip cocked to the side, and he's chewing on his lip in concentration. 

"Did you tell me before?" He asks, and it's not like Iwaizumi to be so _timid._ Quiet, like he's scared he's saying the wrong thing. 

Brash, quick-tempered, hotheaded Iwaizumi. Nerves weren't a good look on him. Oikawa frowns. 

"I did the first time." He answers. "I told you immediately. I- I didn't yesterday, though."

Iwaizumi purses his lips. 'Why not?" 

Oikawa's thoughts, to be frank, are a mess. A constant stream of _I'm scared I'm scared I don't understand I don't know what I'm scared of I miss you I love you what's next for us what's next for me what's next for you can I come do you want to come with me what's next what's next what's next-_

It's exhausting. Oikawa is tired. 

"I just didn't." He says quickly, and it comes off harsher than he'd meant for it too. He doesn't need to worry though- Iwaizumi is used to this. The shorter boy just raises a dark eyebrow, before they fall into silence. 

It's not really a silence- there's the quiet growl of cars on the outskirt of the park, the faint sound of children playing, excited as the dark shrouds them. The splash of the fountain, constant and ringing in their ears. Faintly, the breeze rustling the thin tree branches. He shivers.

"Why did we come here?" Oikawa finds himself asking, gaze skimming over the tall glowing lampposts, over the cement cherubs on the fountain, the benches with chipping paint. 

He might be imagining it, but Oikawa thinks he sees Iwaizumi squirm, shifting his feet and eyeing everywhere _but_ him. It's odd, very odd, but far from the strangest thing that's happened to Oikawa. 

"Old times sake." Is the answer Iwaizumi settles on, but it's shaky, like he's not quite sure himself. 

Oikawa thinks of this fountain, and how they'd sat on the cool ceramic edge of it when they were younger, ice cream melting and splattering onto the dusty dirt of the ground. They'd shared secrets there- Oikawa would put down his volleyball, and Iwaizumi would set his net to the side, and they'd talk. Quiet whispers, pulling at frayed t-shirts and closing eyes as they flicked pennies they'd found on the floor into the fountain. 

He sits on that cool ceramic edge, bristling as it makes contact with the pale underside of his legs, his volleyball shorts not quite long enough to cover them completely, and it's only moments til Iwaizumi follows. 

And it feels like a summer day ten years ago, leaving Oikawa breathless again, an aching warmth in his heart slamming him like a gut punch. 

It's quiet, as they both gather their thoughts. Something is stirring during this warm, hazy evening, just as palpable as the moisture in the air. Oikawa finds himself jigging his leg, up and down at the speed of light, nerves frazzled and mind whirling.

"I think there's something wrong. Something that's not the time loop- it's something that's been on your mind for a while." Iwaizumi mumbles, so low that Oikawa has to strain his ears to hear. "But you won't tell me what it is." 

Oikawa freezes.

_(I'm scared I'm scared I don't understand I don't know what I'm scared of I miss you I love you what's next for us what's next for me what's next for you can I come do you want to come with me what's next what's next what's next-)_

"And like- I'm-" Iwaizumi stumbles over his words, his mind working faster than his mouth. "I'm not going to- to _force_ you to tell me. I would never. But- I'd listen. And I'd help. I'd help you figure it out." 

Oikawa opens his mouth, but Iwaizumi just looks at him, a simple glance that tells him all he needs to know. His mouth snaps shut. 

"And- I'm really no good at this type of stuff." Iwaizumi continues gruffly. "You- you're my best friend. So if there's something wrong- we'd fix it." 

His face is flushed red, whether from embarrassment or something else, Oikawa isn't sure. It's mesmerising, the patches of dark blooming on his face, all sharp angles and shadows. 

"I'd follow you anywhere, you know." Iwaizumi blurts, and his blush consumes him. "I've followed you to Kitagawa Daiichi, I've followed you to Seijoh. I'll follow you to Nationals. And I- I'll follow you after. If you'll have me." 

The last part is so quiet, shaking and awkward, just trickling past his lips. 

_I'll follow you after. If you'll have me._

And everything, _everything_ falls into place. 

"You- you _would?"_ Oikawa croaks, and it should be horrifying, how his voice is cracking and his nose is going ruddy as tears well in his eyes, all his worries, the nights where he couldn't sleep, his nerves, threatening to spill over. 

"Well I _said_ so, didn't I?" Iwaizumu mutters. "Hey- _hey._ Don't _cry,_ Shittykawa, _fuck."_

The rough pads of his thumbs brush the drops off of his cheekbones. And they'd inched together again, always in contact, always in each other's orbit, knees and thighs pressed against one another. Dazedly, Oikawa's reminded of the beginning of this whole mess, his fuzzy mind, the ball smacking his face, Iwaizumi's fingers dancing on his skin. 

"You've never followed me anywhere." Oikawa mumbles. "You're the only one who's put up with me, all this time. I'll never find someone like you ever again." 

Iwaizumi curses lowly, and Oikawa thinks that Iwaizumi's eyes are glistening a little too, sparkling a little under Miyagi's clear night sky full of stars. 

"Do you really think that?" He says quietly. Oikawa's forehead rests on Iwaizumi's shoulder, sitting crosslegged on the fountain edge and facing him fully. Tears stain his shirt, clean and fresh from changing after practice. 

"Yeah." Oikawa murmurs. "I do." 

"Would you ever have told me?" Iwaizumi asks gently. "If this time loop never happened?" 

_Would you have let me go?_

Oikawa stills as he ponders the question. 

_Would he have?_

Iwaizumi won't remember this tomorrow- it makes tears flow out of his eyes even faster, that they'll dance around each other again, and again, and again, for as long as Oikawa is stuck like this. But now he _knows._ The relief is almost blinding. 

"I don't know." He says honestly. "Maybe. Maybe not. But there won't be anywhere to follow me, if I'm in this thing forever." 

" _Hey._ " Iwaizumi says sternly, but it lacks bite. "Don't think like that." 

"This conversation won't ever have existed, by tomorrow." Oikawa sniffs. "I'll never have enough time." 

It slips out, absently, and Oikawa doesn't even realise what he's said until Iwaizumi is looking at him curiously, maybe a little hopefully. 

"Enough time for what?" 

_For you to be my partner. For us to be together. For us to walk home together. For us to play together. For us to cheat at Mario Kart together. For us to eat too-sweet popsicles on the sidewalk together. For us to fall asleep together._

_There's never been enough time. Now instead of a year, it's day by day-_

_For me to set for you. For you to spike for me. For us to go to Nationals together. For us to go to the top together._

_There's not enough time for us._

"I love you, you know." Oikawa blurts. 

And it's out. 

Just like that, in a single, easy breath. One second, two hearts, three words, and Oikawa's let one of the two secrets he's ever kept from Iwaizumi come out.

 _Just like that._

He slaps a hand over his mouth in horror, frozen to his spot and unable to do anything but watch as realisation dawns on Iwaizumi's face, a myriad of emotions flashing across his features. 

"I'm- I'm so-" 

"Don't you _dare_ say you're sorry." Iwaizumi hisses, and suddenly they're close close _close_ closer than they'd ever been before and Iwaizumi's eyes are only an inch away from his and their noses are brushing and- 

"Do you mean that?" He whispers, and Oikawa can feel Iwaizumi's warm breath on his lips. "Or are you only saying that because you think I won't remember this tomorrow?" 

And the thing was- the second possibility had barely crossed his mind. 

"Of course I mean it, Iwa-chan." Oikawa says easily, even when his heart is pounding so hard that he thinks Iwaizumi _must_ be able to hear it. "I think I probably always have." 

And it's the truth, slipping out of his mouth and brushing over Iwaizumi's. He's only kept two secrets from Iwaizumi in his life, and that number wouldn't be growing, not anytime soon. 

"You really are an idiot sometimes." Iwaizumi says stoutly, and Oikawa has no chance to respond, because Iwaizumi finally surges forward and closes the space between them, pressing their faces together. 

His cheeks are wet, and he doesn't know who's tears belong to who. It's nothing how Oikawa imagined this might go, if it were ever to happen- all of his dreams, hopes and wishes had been more pipe dreams than plans.

"You won't remember this tomorrow." Oikawa mumbles against Iwaizumi's mouth. "You're not going to remember, and I'll be alone again." 

His voice breaks on the last syllable. 

_He's tired._

"Then you should tell me tomorrow." Iwaizumi says. "If I love you on today's June 21st, I'll love you on tomorrow's, and the day after, and the day after, and we'll figure it out." 

_We._

"We're a team." Oikawa says dumbly, and Iwaizumi's look of fond exasperation almost makes him sob again. 

"You're stupid." He says. "Of course we're a team. We've always _been_ a team." 

"And you love me." 

"I _said_ I did, didn't I?" 

And Oikawa feels like he's crumbling. 

"Come on." Iwaizumi stands up, holding his hand out. "Let's go home." 

And when Oikawa takes it, he doesn't have to let go. His heart soars. 

When he looks at Iwaizumi, illuminated under harsh streetlamps as they walk home, even if he might not remember any of this the next day, even if Oikawa's going to have to tell him every day for who knows how long, Oikawa thinks everything might turn out alright. 

* * *

When Oikawa is woken up the next morning by his alarm, there's a familiar sore ache in his shoulders and legs, like he trained too hard the day before. The sky is painted a funny blue-purple-pink, just like it had been every morning. Faintly, birds chirping, signalling the beginning of a new day. 

Oikawa's heart drops. 

"Turn it _off."_

And when Oikawa whirls around, it's just in time to catch Iwaizumi before he pulls the blankets up over his head, covering the messy spikes of black hair and the pillow marks that line his cheek. 

Iwaizumi. 

He woke up with Iwaizumi. 

"No way." Oikawa whispers, scrambling for his phone. 

His homescreen lights up, and the device is promptly dropped onto the floor, landing cushioned only by the thin rug laid out on his bedroom floor. 

"Iwa-chan. _Hajime._ " He murmurs, excitement only barely masked by rough morning voice, tugging the blanket until Iwaizumi lets go. He's cranky, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled in distaste, but he's shining as the sunrise paints him a faint orange. 

"Wha-" Iwaizumi grumbles, but he grabs at Oikawa, pulling him down and caging him in. "Shut _up_. We can wait ten more minutes and then run." 

Normally, on any other day, Oikawa would protest a decision like that. He's steadily climbing his way to a captaincy, and a late would be far from beneficial for him. On any other day, he'd tug Iwaizumi out of bed, shuttling him from the bathroom to the kitchen and out the door until he'd woken up enough to do it himself. 

But today isn't any other day. 

Today is June 22nd, and Oikawa thinks that maybe, just _maybe,_ everything is going to work out.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on twitter @SUNASMIYA, thanks for reading <3


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